Foggyghostx - Foggy Ghost Mich - Tumblr Blog

what are you looking for? love?

╰┈ whatever you’re willing to give me

a thousand lives

i’ve lived a thousand lives, yet loved nearly none. i’ve had a few lovers, but none have been “the one.” a hopeless romantic, it's not idyllic, it’s problematic. i fall in love with strangers that don’t fall back; they don’t even want to talk, and i wonder what it is i lack.

paramore performing in 2006 (x).

Just a girl Whether or not I figure out this floating rock’s lifeless meaning, I’ll still just be me. Each and every instance craves a moment of truth. A moment without fogged memory or clouded judgement; a peace of mind, if you will… If that peace of mind, if only it would come to fruition. It may very well never do so. Not for you, nor for myself, or anyone for that matter. Why is that?  I’d rather just read and play games. At heart, I’m just a girl, without a worry in the world, content to just be.  A pressing question like the meaning of life would never bother a little girl. I wish I were never able to fathom that.

tall and skinny trees

covered from root to tip in leaves

scaling mountains as far as you can see

& you have watered

The flower, petals gleaming

I open for you

Oh! how I wish It to be us, how I wish to have gone through simple day to day things with you, how I wish to cook for you, do your laundry, sing you songs, fold your shirts, cut your nails, do your skincare, make a home, do the taxes, make the budget, make some children and plan the whole life with you.

-msr

yes, it’s nearly winter.

that means it’s nearly time to miss you.

grief will never be linear. even after years, and years, and years.

not that anything was ever meant to be. but no one can help but grieve the possibility. that no one is me.

and when i struggle, or question directions, i will always wonder what could’ve been.

the song pours out, challenged by the routes.

then there is the comfort, yet i cry, knowing i will meet you on the other side.

keep me on that path. even if it isn’t linear. keep me on the path to you, through the cold and dark winter.

i’m grateful for the good in people, and how kind they are to give some of that goodness to me. ❤︎

Turnover - Dizzy On The Comedown

Halloween season is upon us 👻🎃💀

grab these prints now in time for spooky season [15% OFF ON ALL PRINTS] inprnt.com/gallery/titsay

PARAMORE MY BELOVED 🫂

who’s up thinking about after the threesome they both take you home by sue hyon bae i’m thinking about after the threesome they both take you home by sue hyon bae

paramore’s performance of last hope at bonnaroo 2023 was life changing for me and i think we all moved on a little too fast

ruckus! day and unreal unearth day coinciding was a personal attack on me

chest pains

Each time I slip through the cracks, I wonder if its my last. The one I can't come back from. Or the one that will take a large medical bill in order to do so. I can't keep it under wraps. I get torn up inside. It's that chest pain of anxiety and despair, that makes you wish for a peaceful death right on the spot. The one that makes you think, "maybe medication can't fix this one." All of my options flash by like a slot machine. Too fast to pinpoint or describe. But I don't like any of them. And maybe if I were sane or motivated I would. But I'm not. The slot machine entrances me like an alien abduction, rendering any shred of motivation or sanity useless.

The seemingly infinite void of the future hurts to think about. But so does mortality. So I've decided life is a purgatory. Happiness? Oh, please. The complexities of the human brain are endless, just like time. And we mortals sit here and watch it pass. But at the same time it moves too fast. But also it drowns us. Purgatory. All of it, at the same time, unending, and we must navigate it. How? How is this normal? Acceptable? How do people do it? How do people walk around without thinking about death, uncertainty, being a horrible person, so on? Maybe that's just me. I'll try to ignore the chest pains.

making unnecessary pmore purchases and labeling them as “self care” bc i can

yesterday, today, and tomorrow

#paramoresavedme

rock and roll, hey, dont you know baby

dead on the street

I severely dread grocery shopping. It reminds me of how I am a living being that must take care of itself. Even when my mind is clear as can be (which, frankly, isn't very), grocery shopping generates so many useless thoughts that don't stop bouncing around my skull like pissed off ping pong balls. That's too many calories. That's not enough protein. You can't justify that much money, you'll never even eat it. That expires in less than two weeks, it'll kill you. Those people just watched you stare at sliced cheese for five and a half minutes. Why don't you just get the same thing as always? You're sick of it already? Of course you are. Don't get that, you won't even cook it. You hate cooking. No, you won't cook it, and you know that. You're too lazy. No chips. No chocolate. You can't spend $6 on a gallon of iced coffee, but you can spend $10 a day each morning at Dunkin'. No, you won't eat that. Go ahead, put it in your basket, it'll sit in the fridge for the next eight months. And so on.

I left Target with less money and somehow even less confidence. A wave of utter upset hit me as I sat in my car. But drive I must.

The drive down a smooth road rimmed with foliage and the sound of my current favorite songs wash away the upset for a few minutes. Up ahead on the bend, I see a bird flutter down from the greenery, and swoop under the car about 30 yards ahead of me. The car does not break or swerve, as they probably didn't even see it. But then the car passed, and left behind was the bird. Belly-up. Flapping its wings but getting nowhere. Suddenly, seconds turned to minutes. There were no oncoming cars, so I respectfully drove around the victim. I moved back to the right side of the road, and slowed, looking wide-eyed into my rear-view mirror. There it was, still laying on its back, flapping its wings. I slowed more, and started to pull off the road. But within seconds, I made the decision not to stop.

I continued driving. In just one second, I thought of all my options. If I pull off, it might be dangerous for me. I'm clumsy, and I don't trust other drivers not to hit me. If I picked it up, I couldn't take it home. I'd want to. But there's nothing there for the bird, its late in the evening, and I can't afford a vet bill, and I have no idea how to care for it. I could put it on the side of the road. But it's already got one wing in the grave. The chances of a predator coming for it are higher than ever. If it doesn't die from the complications of the impact, a larger animal is sure to eat it. And I feared I would end up sitting on the side of the road with this bird for the rest of its life. I would, if I could. If I could abandon all reason I'd run off with the bird, heal it, and live in the woods with it. But I'm going 40 miles per hour down a two lane road with no shoulder or side walk. So I keep driving.

And to think, I get so worked up about grocery shopping. If that bird's life was so precious, I would have helped it. If my life weren't so precious, I'd leave it. If we were equals, there would be no hypotheticals. Hours later, I'm still wondering who's life is worth more: a robin that was hit by a car, or a 21-year-old teenager that can't figure out how to take care of herself.

little painted town

Pale little houses on little old streets, where garden figures line the sheen-less bricks. Little old trees bare from the winter, pressed against a blue-grey sky. Little stone graves and little gray fences, hovering over the dead yellow grass. Little winding streets and windy pine trees, with their little pale houses on their little old streets. Little black crows and little dead bushes, a strong cold breeze almost blowing them away. Little home businesses and little barren lots Next to little pale houses on their little old plots.

no longer mine

Most days, I can look out the window and let the breeze remind me. But other days, it refuses to penetrate my heavy fog of despair. I will sit there and ask it to go by. I may even beg for it to. But those days do not allow it. There is an insufferable fluid in the air that separates me from reality. And this fluid - the breeze - they work against each other. The fluid, the fog, they surround me. They keep me in. The breeze cannot cut through this tangible dampness. Most days, it can remind me; the fog is cleared and I can feel the breeze once more. But other days, the strength of the stifling fluid in the air is too much for the breeze to bear. It is too much for me to bear. When there is no breeze, no window, no sun, the fluid drowns me. I can walk, talk, survive, yes, but live? The fog does not allow me to live. It stifles and drowns from a layer just beneath my skin. My body may still operate, and you may ask it questions, it may answer you, but it is not me. I am trapped beneath the choking blanket of fog that rests under my skin, and it seeps through, forming a sort of bubble around the body I inhabit. The body you talk to, laugh with, work alongside - that body is not me. I am on the inside, screaming, begging for control. There is no breeze to ask for, there is no window to sit by, and the sun is gone. I can do nothing but wish for this body back, plead for another chance at autonomy. But the fog will grow stronger. The fluid will clog my ears and nose and tug at my eyes to shut. It knows, both the fluid, and the body, that even if I did have my chance at control, I’d waste it. The fog reminds me that I will miss my shot every time. My body ruins itself in efforts of aggression towards me. I sulk next to it, dragging through the fluid. There comes a point where I ask myself if this is now “most days.” Because “most days” used to make sense, they used to be mine to seize. But even with the window open and the breeze coming in, it seems like most days are no longer mine.